


when I kissed the teacher

by Veslya



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Canon-Typical Violence, Dazai-Typical Suicide References (Bungou Stray Dogs), Hogwarts Fourth Year, Idiots in Love, M/M, Nakahara Chuuya Uses Corruption (Bungou Stray Dogs), Swearing, Triwizard Tournament, Unforgivable Curses (Harry Potter), mentions of avoided gore, the author's half-hearted attempts at investigation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-06 00:40:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16821670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veslya/pseuds/Veslya
Summary: When Chuuya Nakahara is sent to Hogwarts as representative of the French Ministry, he isn't particularly happy about it. Still, it wouldn't be that much of a bother if that damned teacher could just stop annoying him...





	1. he looked like a fool

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kentario](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kentario/gifts).



> So, this... happened (a.k.a. distracted me during Nano until I sat down and finished it in three very strange days).  
> ABBA overwhelmed me, I got this idea, and here it is. Enjoy.

The Triwizard Tournament - incredibly ostentatious, far more popular than advisable, and decidedly deadly. Whoever had thought it to be a good idea to bring back something like that, Chuuya thought, deserved to participate themselves. It wouldn’t be much of a loss.

But no one had asked him, which was why he was currently sitting in Beauxbatons’ flying coach, impatiently waiting for their arrival at Hogwarts. His fingers itched for a broom. Flying by himself, that was what he loved, not doing nothing while the world moved past the windows. It was the wind in his hair he was looking for, the freedom of deciding where to go - and getting there quickly. That was important too.

Being trapped in a wooden deathbox pulled by winged sofas with anxiety was less enjoyable.

Their landing sent a shock through Chuuya’s body and almost threw him out of his seat. Nevertheless, he breathed a sigh of relief. That part of the journey was done, and he would ignore that he had to go back until it was time for it. All he had to do now was to stand there during every single event, look serious, and try to control his temper. It couldn’t be that bad.

  
  


In retrospect, Chuuya should have known better than to tempt fate. Not even a full day had passed, and he already regretted ever having set foot into a British school of magic.

Marching into Hogwarts’ Great Hall next to Madame Maxime, representing the unity between Beauxbatons and the French Ministry of Magic, made him feel small and insignificant in comparison to her, two things Chuuya hated from the deepest depths of his soul. Some of the students - children! - were taller than him, the ceiling, enchanted to look like a sky, was simulating a thunderstorm of all things, and someone asked why he wasn’t wearing the same uniform as the ‘other students’. In other words, Chuuya struggled to see how things could get any worse.

At least the students performed flawlessly, he didn’t have to sit through another school’s ‘great entrance’ seeing as Durmstrang had gone in before them, and if his smile turned viciously murderous, no one commented. Introductions were made, he was forced to smile while listening to the headmaster bumble his way through his last name, and finally he was free to… sit down again. This was why he hated his job.

Having reached his daily quota of bullshit and beyond caring, Chuuya spotted wine on the table and reached for it, only to be stopped by a hand he most certainly did not know. “Aren’t you a bit young for that?” the most annoying voice he had ever heard asked, as if it was any of his  _ fucking _ business.

His chair trembled and groaned ominously, as if Chuuya had mysteriously gained weight equal to that of a dragon. Gritting his teeth, he dragged the errant tendril of power back under control before turning to glare at the offender who had dared to keep him from his wine. 

Considering the seating meant to ‘improve inter-school unity’ or something like that, surrounding representatives of the visiting schools and ministries with British wizards, it was a Hogwarts teacher - not even one of the more well-known ones, just a rather plain-looking idiot who seemed to think bandages were the height of fashion. For a moment Chuuya simply tried to murder him with his gaze alone (he was pretty sure the nonhuman part of his ancestry was not a basilisk, but it couldn’t hurt to try) until he had regained enough control of his voice to do more than scream or hiss in anger. He wanted his wine, dammit! And he wasn’t  _ that _ small!

“Get your hand off me before you need a new one,” he growled, making the other gasp and cover his mouth with his hand. His free hand, not the one that was still holding Chuuya’s arm. 

“Such words from an ambassador! I’m terrified!” 

The innocent, wide-eyed look the teacher gave him, no trace of fear in it, didn’t even attempt to fool Chuuya. This bastard was trying to provoke him - and even worse: it was working. All Chuuya wanted to do was to let loose a little and show him the  _ gravity _ of the situation, pun fully intended. No one could keep him from his well-deserved wine!

It took all of his self control to simply pull his arm out of the other man’s grasp without punching, cursing, or crushing him. Chuuya did, however, allow himself  _ some _ indulgences, namely maintaining eye contact and slowly reaching out towards the wine again while grinning like an unhinged madman, as his sister liked to put it. “My work only starts tomorrow,” he informed the other man (only half a lie, really, since official introductions were already done for today). “Enough time to make all kinds of evidence vanish.”

His hand reached the wine, the precious liquid was his! But his joy was short-lived: Against all expectations, a smile began to spread on the potential madman’s face. “Yes!” he exclaimed, drawing the attention of everyone present. “Take me! Take me to the underworld, my beautiful stranger!” 

Chuuya froze and loosened his grip on the bottle, giving the man the opportunity to tackle him with a hug. The impact was strong enough to send him off his chair, if it hadn’t been for a timely gravity-manipulating intervention. Instead he ended up uncomfortably pressed against the backrest, the mobility of his arms severely impaired. Judging by the rather unhealthy sounds the poor, abused furniture made, especially after the strain he had put on it less than a minute ago, it wouldn’t last long either. All in all, it was a far more unpleasant situation than anything Chuuya currently wanted to deal with.

“Stop! That! Get! Off!” 

He punctuated every word with a punch to the teacher’s chest, wine long abandoned. It helped about as much as punching a random wall would have - not at all. 

How? Chuuya was by no means weak. His punches should have at least made the other man flinch, not simply continue hugging him while blabbering about death, suicide, and other things Chuuya just wanted to punch him for.

Which he was doing. It still wasn’t as helpful as he would have hoped.

His magic pulsed underneath his skin, ready to lash out, to crush, to consume, to simply hold if it was absolutely necessary, but Chuuya kept a tight lid on it. He was, after all, supposed to keep a low profile. British wizards objected to those like him, whose ancestors had at some point decided to take a nonhuman to bed instead of socially more acceptable options. If he didn’t want to cause an incident and completely fail in his task, he had to endure this.

But that didn’t mean he had to enjoy it - an attractive annoyance was still an annoyance, after all.

He had not just thought that.

Couldn’t anyone remove the bastard from him? He was starting to nuzzle the sensitive area between Chuuya’s shoulder and neck, and he couldn’t entirely hold back anymore. Letting loose a torrent of curses, his only saving grace was that he remembered to switch to Japanese first. Teaching children how to swear the way he usually did was probably the next-best thing after an international incident to get him removed from the job. 

It probably  _ was _ an international incident.

“What a filthy mouth,” the asshole now murmured  _ directly into Chuuya’s ear _ . “Should I shut you up before anyone else listens to it?”

That bastard spoke Japanese! And, more importantly: Did this count as harassment?

The shiver that ran down his back at the thought what this madman would see as an appropriate way to shut him up was utterly irrelevant. Chuuya’s libido had not been asked for its opinion.

Before he could think about it for another second, Chuuya shaped the energy underneath his skin for a short but strong gravity shift, hoped it would look like the wandless bit of magic it wasn’t instead of the desperate attempt to free himself it was, and  _ pushed _ .

The man flew like an eagle and landed like a sack of potatoes. Silence fell alongside him, not a single hushed whisper breaking it. 

Now that the bandaged idiot who had tried to kill him with his weight (or tried to be killed by him, or whatever else had been going through his mind) was gone, Chuuya could see what had happened during their scuffle: Several teachers, wands drawn but lowered, surrounded him, faces seemingly stuck in varying shades of shock. Had they tried and simply failed to free him?

(Had they noticed what he’d done?)

What was that man?

Ignoring the silence that was now stretching long enough to be awkward, as well as the teachers who were slowly awakening from their petrification and slowly shuffling back to their seats, Chuuya got to his feet, spying over the table to see if the man had survived the fall. He hadn’t been  _ that _ high up, and after weathering all of Chuuya’s punches, it had probably been nothing, but just in case he’d ended up accidentally murdering someone without noticing…

The man was moving and groaning, so he was probably fine. Chuuya sat back down, reached for the wine for a third and hopefully final time, and poured some of it into his glass. For once, he didn’t particularly care about the quality - it would carry the sweet taste of victory no matter what, and Chuuya would enjoy his spoils of war. 

Glass in hand, he turned to his other, hopefully a bit more normal neighbor, a small, skittish-seeming man who had just finished putting his wand away. Taking a moment to unobtrusively look over all the probably enchanted trinkets the man carried, Chuuya finally noted him down as a Charms specialist. And what better way to start a Charms conversation was there than this room?

“That ceiling is impressive. Does it mirror the weather in a specific place, or does it contain its own atmosphere?”

Looking like a cornered pixie, the man blinked before starting to smile. “It actually  _ is _ a separate atmosphere, one that’s around a thousand years old at this point. Sophisticated enough that normal weather spells can affect it, in fact. You see…”

The rest of the feast turned out to be far more pleasant than the beginning. Even the annoying man from earlier stopped bothering him, though he did stumble back around the table and reclaimed his seat. Relations with the schools and countries hadn’t been irreparably damaged, not too many people had been traumatized (he hoped), and both food and wine were excellent. 

Coming here might not have been the worst thing that had ever happened to him.


	2. gonna teach him a lesson alright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chuuya tries to win. He doesn't.

The seating arrangements, Chuuya learned far too soon, were fixed, a permanently established order that would put him in close contact with someone who had actively tried to be killed by him the first time they met regularly every day for the entire duration of his stay at Hogwarts. He was not amused. At all.

First order of business? Find out what he was up against.

The nuisance was called Osamu Dazai. He, too, had Japanese ancestry, though his seemed to have been entirely human. Entirely wizard as well, if the random green-robed sixth year Hogwarts student he had questioned was to be believed. The poor soul had gone on about it for ages, even after Chuuya had left. What a weird person. 

Dazai - Professor Dazai, but Chuuya didn’t feel like using any kinds of niceties around that man - was the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher and Head of Slytherin House (the green ones, Chuuya was told), a position he had gained last year after his predecessor had quit unexpectedly, seemingly content to remain Potions professor. Additionally, he was said to be the scariest person in the castle, possibly in the entire country. Chuuya couldn’t quite confirm that, but he was willing to accept that he was the strangest.

Incredibly gifted when it came to dueling, specifically concerning shields and counters (this explained why none of the teachers had been able to remove him from Chuuya that memorable first night), Dazai still seemed to seek death, constantly on the lookout for dangerous creatures or situations and not above creating them himself. It was possible he had chosen the wrong specialization for this goal.

How he had stayed a teacher - gotten the position at all - Chuuya didn’t understand. Who would employ someone like that, let them near children? It was utterly irresponsible.

The last bit of information wasn’t particularly new, but nevertheless important: Dazai was a royal pain in the ass. Every time Chuuya entered the Great Hall, no matter when,  _ he _ was there, ready to throw himself at Chuuya who just wanted to eat in peace.

He wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen Dazai eat at all. 

At the end of the first week Chuuya sat down on his bed, ran his hand through his hair and sighed. All that information, and what was he supposed to do with it? Unless Dazai got fired - unlikely, considering he seemed to have been this way from the very beginning, had been employed with that kind of personality, he was stuck with him.

If it hadn’t been for his duties, Chuuya would have hunted down the kitchen long ago and just gotten his food there. But no, not showing up to meals would be seen as a personal affront to literally everyone in Great Britain, judging by the emphasis put on it. 

He never should have agreed to this. But the Ministry had gotten to his sister, had convinced  _ her _ that he simply had to go, and… well. Chuuya had never come out as the victor in an argument against her. Whatever Kouyou wanted, Kouyou got.

Chuuya would have to deal with it.

  
  


That evening, it was time for the Goblet of Fire to reveal the Champions. An event of great importance, a grand opening to the tournament connecting three great schools of magic, one at which Chuuya definitely had to fulfill his vital task of sitting there and looking good. It should have been easy.

“Dazai, stop trying to stick your fork into my ear.”

In theory. If that idiot continued to test his extremely limited patience like this, though...

“But Chuuuuya!” he whined. “This is booooring. Entertain me!”

Chuuya scowled at the mention of his name. He had never told the bastard to call him that, had protested it, in fact, but apparently Osamu Dazai was incapable of  _ taking a fucking hint _ . Even if it punched him in the face. Which Chuuya had done.

Speaking of - apparently regularly punching through their famed teacher’s supposedly unbreakable shields served to make every single Hogwarts student terrified of Chuuya. It helped that Dazai still hadn’t figured out how Chuuya kept tricking his magic. But really - blocking gravity? If he was capable of doing that, the damn show-off would probably float everywhere.

Chuuya pointedly ignored the fact that he himself greatly enjoyed floating everywhere as well.

Rolling his eyes, he pulled the fork out of Dazai’s grip, barely resisting the urge to crush it in his hand and throw it back at the bastard tap-dancing on his nerves. “Pay attention.”

“No.”

Chuuya stifled a sigh. “Stop acting like a child.”

That managed to give him several seconds of actual quiet and opportunity to listen to the ceremony, only serving to make him realize that he had absolutely no idea what was going on. Thanks to a certain waste of bandages sitting next to him, of course. Still, judging by the chatter audible throughout the hall, it wasn’t anything important, or at least nothing the students would have deemed relevant.

There - they were starting to read the names. Maybe now he could finally follow the rest of the evening’s events.

Of course Dazai chose that point to talk once again. “But Chuuya - none of them act like me!”

Chuuya frowned. “Huh?” 

That had not been one of his more eloquent moments.

“They’re children, and none of them act like me. So obviously I’m not acting like a child!”

The bright grin Dazai graced him with seemed to imply that he wanted an actual reward for that utterly dumb realization. He was more of a child then the actual literal children in front of them! It would have been impressive if it hadn’t been so damn annoying.

Chuuya opened his mouth, intent on setting Dazai straight once and for all and maybe bite his head off in the process, but was interrupted when suddenly the background noise of several hundred students and their teachers simply… stopped.

“Harry Potter?” Hogwarts’ headmaster called out, and Chuuya realized something was very, very wrong when one of the children - the actual, tiny, vulnerable children, the ones who were smaller than he was - got up and slowly shuffled towards him, his confused expression mirroring Chuuya’s feelings.

A child? As a Triwizard Champion? Hadn’t there been an age line? How could a child have gotten past it and fooled the goblet into accepting him?

Something was fishy here. It seemed the French Ministry’s worries hadn’t been completely unfounded, that rumor about someone planning to mess with the tournament not as baseless as Chuuya had expected. He’d have to investigate.

There was one ray of hope though, Chuuya thought as he pushed himself up and walked into the back room holding the four Champions. This course of events might be able to distract him from Dazai and his constant need for attention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is that... the actual Harry Potter plot? Who knows... certainly not me. (I said, having finished this fanfic and knowing exactly where it's going. In theory.)


	3. everybody screamed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are heating up in the dragon fandom.

It was the day of the first task, and Chuuya had to admit defeat. He wasn’t made to be a detective - he didn’t even know where to start investigating. What was he supposed to look for - someone who hated Potter, someone who wanted to ruin the tournament and make sure it never happened again, someone who wanted to drive a person-shaped wedge between the schools and their respective magical communities? Maybe - and the thought kept coming back to him no matter how often he pushed it away - it was Dazai and he just wanted to see the world burn. What he had seen from the plan didn’t seem to fit Dazai’s style, but what did Chuuya know? He’d only just met the man, had been exasperated by him during every single meeting, and had learned nothing actually useful about him. 

He was a rather new arrival to the teaching staff, more evasive than an eel, possibly smarter than any five people in the castle put together, had an uncanny way of knowing exactly where Chuuya was every second of the day, and was constantly filled with more uncontrolled energy than a niffler high on potion fumes. All in all, he didn’t seem particularly trustworthy. 

This didn’t necessarily mean that he was going to start killing people, of course, but causing chaos just to be entertained, as Chuuya could attest to, was something the man excelled at. So why not do it on a grander scale?

The problem was… Chuuya didn’t  _ want _ Dazai to be the one responsible. Nothing had changed between them, the sight of the man could still trigger a mixture of annoyance and burning hot rage in him, but in some ways Chuuya had gotten used to him. Liked him, even, when he wasn’t acting like the overgrown four-year-old he wasn’t. Not like he ever planned to admit that out loud.

And none of those thoughts could stop Dazai from being incredibly, mind-numbingly annoying when he set his mind to it.

“Chuuuya!”

It happened when Chuuya reached the arena built for the first task. He cringed, knowing exactly what that cheerful voice meant, and preparing adequately, shifting gravity just the tiniest bit to make this easier. The next moment he had a lanky bastard hanging from his back, somehow, despite their size differences, with his entire weight.

Weren’t at least his knees touching the ground? This was just impossible.

“Are you comfortable up there?” Ignoring the insanity still worked slightly better than responding to it, so that was the route Chuuya chose.

“Yes, very! Chuuya is tiny, but the best pillow!” The wink was  _ audible _ . How did he  _ do _ that?

“Thanks. Get off.”

“But Chuuuuuuuuya…”

A bored Dazai meant a longer name. This one was far too close to doing something morally questionable but entertaining for anyone’s continued wellbeing, both mentally and physically. And of course it fell to Chuuya to do something about it.

Shoving Dazai off his shoulders, something he didn’t even need to manipulate gravity for at this point (and refused to question just in case the answer was something he didn’t want to hear), Chuuya looked around the arena. He had shown up a bit later than planned, so most of the space were already filled. They - because there was no way for him to shake Dazai now that he had attached himself to him - had the choice between seats they couldn’t see anything from and having to stand in the back, with a view that was probably at least acceptable. 

Sighing, Chuuya dragged Dazai towards the back. When exactly he had started to involve the bandaged idiot in things like this without even a single word of protest was something else he didn’t think about.

Chuuya knew about the task, about the dragons, about what the Champions had to face. Still, the sight of an actual dragon in front of him, knowing children would have to face it on their own, one of the most dangerous creatures in the world…

He shuddered.

“Are you scared of dragons?”

Of course Dazai had to notice, and of course he couldn’t keep his mouth shut about it. Chuuya didn’t know why he was actually surprised.

“I just…” He shook his head, steeling himself against ridicule he couldn’t avoid either way. “I’m worried about them.”

“You don’t have to. The dragons get fed even if they don’t get one of the little ones.”

Chuuya turned so quickly he was surprised he didn’t get whiplash from it. “You…! What-”

Seeing Dazai’s lips, chewed on like the man’s common sense, pulled into a small smile immediately chased away all of Chuuya’s rage and confusion, replacing it with exasperation. “That was the best you could come up with?”

“You believed it, didn’t you?” The smile turned into a smug grin. Chuuya just wanted to wipe it off the bastard’s face.

Instead he punched his arm, holding back this time. All of Dazai’s shields had fallen around him, it seemed, and while turning him into human soup did sound like a tempting idea sometimes, Chuuya didn’t actually want that to happen.

“Ow. Chuuya is hurting me!”

“Stop whining, you brought this upon yourself.”

Dazai pouted but didn’t argue. “Look, it’s starting!”

It was indeed, and Chuuya didn’t even mind Dazai’s hand sneaking into his own. He squeezed it slightly, thankful for the support as he had to watch helplessly as children were placed in mortal danger for the sake of entertainment. Corruption purred in his chest, curling up like a cat and ceasing its usual lurking, watching and waiting for a moment to break free. 

Chuuya was calm.

They watched in silence as the older Champions, the proper ones, the only ones there should have been, fought their dragons. None of them died, though Dazai would probably claim his hand was a victim of the Welsh Green setting Fleur’s robes on fire.

Chuuya didn’t care. He had offered, he should have been aware of the consequences.

Then it was time for the youngest one. 

“What do you think he’s going to do?” Dazai whispered into the silence enveloping them, the calm before the storm, before Harry Potter entered the arena.

Chuuya shrugged. “I don’t know. He can’t know any spells that work against dragons, he’s too young.” Shaking his head, he prepared to jump at the dragon, interrupt the task, consequences be damned, to do  _ something _ . “He can’t win.”

“Oh, but Chuuya,” Dazai almost sang next to him. “Don’t be hasty! You haven’t even seen him cast yet.”

He had, at the wand weighing ceremony, as a demonstration of the wand’s functionality, but Chuuya didn’t mention that. The boy was in his fourth year of education. Most people couldn’t take on a dragon after seven. He didn’t have to know how exactly the boy cast his spells to see that it was almost certainly a death sentence for him.

That was what he thought, the belief he stuck to, until…

“Is that… a broom?”

He had to hand it to Potter, he was certainly inventive. Using his superior mobility in the air, compared to the chained-down dragon, was a viable tactic, one that might not end in his death or interference after all, if there was a good dose of luck involved.

It wasn’t. The dragon tore free, and all hell broke loose. Staring at the scales that were suddenly far too close for comfort, there was no time to react consciously.

The energy resting under his skin, calm until now, burst out of him, anchoring him to the ground as the dragon’s tail whipped past him and smashed the wall behind them, introducing a gust of cold air before it took off after the boy, leaving the audience behind.

Corruption was growling, a sound noiselessly reverberating through his bones, still active though the danger had passed. Why…?

He noticed the stares before he could finish asking himself the question, followed by the soft glow in the air, the red tint in his vision caused by anything more than miniscule use of the power locked inside him.

And he remembered he hadn’t been alone.

Chuuya turned, his eyes meeting Dazai’s who was floating in the air behind him, not a hair out of place, gravity ignoring him as if he didn’t even exist. Slowly, numbly, he pulled, watching Dazai float closer with a distant interest. His insides screamed at him for… something - what, he wasn’t sure. It was important, he was sure, but not as important as this.

The moment Dazai’s feet touched solid ground, Chuuya let gravity snap back into focus. With it came the whispers.

“Did you know?”

“What, that he’s a half-breed?”

“Scandalous!”

“The French do sleep with everything there is, it seems.”

“Really, how irresponsible of their Ministry, not to tell us about this…”

“The things that could have happened!”

Chuuya froze, mind racing, trying to figure out what he should do. What should he say to make them stop? What were the right words, the right gestures? How could he…

He couldn’t deal with this right now. He had saved Dazai’s life, had come close to falling alongside him, and this was how they reacted?

Well then.

With one last look at Dazai, still stunned, staring at him with wide eyes, and one mental  _ ‘fuck it’ _ , Chuuya turned and stepped off the stands, gently floating towards the ground.

No one called out after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This... happened.


	4. the world stood still

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A confrontation. It doesn't end well.

If the plan had been to kill Harry Potter, Chuuya found out later, it had not been successful. If it had been supposed to show everyone how dangerous it was to send school children who hadn’t even finished their education yet against enemies far more powerful than most grown wizards could handle, it had backfired spectacularly. He was still figuring that one out himself.

Interest in the Tournament was higher than it had ever been, the newspapers still reporting about it weeks after the First Task, uncaring that absolutely nothing had happened in the meantime. Chuuya was being hounded by a reporter who, as he had regrettably heard her say, very much wanted to ‘get his sexy French ass into a closet and  _ interview _ him properly’.

Needless to say, he had taken to avoiding her at all costs.

His investigations were leading him nowhere, hushed whispers following him through the entire castle - though he had the feeling that Dazai had started dropping hints in the middle of their  _ arguments _ . He was failing badly if that madman was feeling pity enough to help for once.

Chuuya would have been far more worried that he knew about him looking into the whole ‘four Champions’ issue if he had thought he was capable of being subtle, and people didn’t talk about him all day. At this point it would have surprised him more to learn that someone in this castle didn’t know about his interest in that topic.

Kouyou would have been a far better choice for this, he felt. She simply had to glare vaguely into a room and everyone fell over themselves trying to confess their sins. She had that effect on people.

But Chuuya was here, and she was not. He couldn’t rely on possibly otherworldly charisma like his sister, or the brain of three geniuses at once like Dazai, so he had to do some legwork. Currently his information (Dazai’s last not-all-that-subtle hint, not even investigative work of his own) was leading him towards the Potion teacher’s office. The man was disliked by everyone, a former Death Eater, seemed to have a personal vendetta against Potter, and was for some reason trusted enough that suspicion wouldn’t immediately fall upon him.

Sometimes Chuuya just wanted to kidnap the entire school and send them to Beauxbatons instead. This wasn’t a school, this was a disaster waiting to happen.

Snape also had something against Dazai, who had, as Chuuya remembered, recently taken his position as Head of Slytherin House, though he had been told it had been a voluntary thing. Blackmail, maybe?

The Potions teacher had accused Dazai of being the one who had ‘helped’ Potter enter the Tournament in front of the entire school, something Chuuya did not appreciate. While he did agree that Dazai was a suspicious person in general, and sometimes, at his most annoyed, thought it wouldn’t surprise him, the thing was…He still refused to believe it to be Dazai and would investigate every single alternative before he’d accept it. The man was a nuisance, but Chuuya didn’t think he’d willingly get a child killed.

At least he hoped Dazai wouldn’t. Otherwise Chuuya would have to question the Headmaster’s sanity for employing the man in the first place, and every friendly interaction they’d ever had.

Class was in session, so the corridors were empty. Chuuya was passing the Great Hall, wondering if he’d be able to get in some snooping before the interrogation, when he spotted Dazai upstairs, waving at him and shouting something. The words were strangely garbled, and Chuuya frowned. Was this Dazai simply being Dazai, obfuscating on purpose? But he did seem unusually urgent…

“What?” he shouted back, hoping they’d get whatever it was over with quickly - he was busy. Besides, didn’t Dazai have to teach?

He watched the other man’s eyes widen in alarm, a faint prickling at the back of his neck. Chuuya turned.

“Confundo!”

Shuddering as a strange fog slithered over his mind, Chuuya stared blankly at the dark-haired man in front of him. Who was that again? And more importantly: Was there something he was supposed to do? A half-forgotten thought was nagging at him…

The man grinned, still pointing his wand at Chuuya, and whispered, “Imperio.”

His mind was floating, covered in soft and warm clouds. He was safe, he was happy. Something softly whispered into his ear.

_ Kill the man on the stairs. _

Killing? No, killing was bad. Why?

_ It’s not real killing. Play your part, and you will forever be happy. _

Forever being happy…

Something in his mind roared, buried under chains and walls and fluffy feelings.

Chuuya lifted his feet to climb the stairs. What… why was he here again?

_ That man _ , the voice reminded him.  _ Get to him. _

Yes… yes, Chuuya could do that. He wanted to get there, be closer to him…

The roaring grew louder.

“So,  _ Professor _ Dazai,” a cold voice behind him drawled, “I hope you’ll enjoy being murdered by your little pet there.”

Murdered… by his little pet?

This time, the roar was soundless, yet deafening. The chains broke, the walls shattered like glass, and the fog burned away in a haze of painful clarity.

And still Chuuya wasn’t in control of his body.

He felt himself turn, a bloodthirsty grin on his face and a red haze in front of his eyes. Dark energy flooded his body, crushing him even as around him, parts of the ground were torn away and floated around him, weightless but deadly. Magic leaked from him like blood from an open wound. Corruption laughed.

Chuuya’s body shot forwards, leaping at his attacker. It was Severus Snape, he recognized belatedly, the one he had been looking for. It seemed Dazai had been right.

At least he wouldn’t have to say it.

The pressure on his body grew with every motion, bones growing ever closer to snapping from the strain - but Corruption didn’t need a functioning body to wreak havoc. 

Chuuya had to stop it, stop himself, before someone got killed. Before he killed someone, was crushed by his own powers, turned on Dazai… But how?

The first punch missed, the second one was only a graze. It was enough, sending Snape tumbling backwards into the wall. He slumped down and stayed there, unmoving. 

The floating stones around him rose higher, quivering as if in anticipation, as Chuuya…

Something tapped his head softly, once, twice, three times. It felt as if a bucket of cold water had been poured over his head. Tendrils of dark energy withdrew from his skin, leaving behind a raw ache that felt as if his skin had been stripped away. Every single bone in his body  _ hurt _ , a pulsing agony of being pulled apart and put together the wrong way. Chuuya could barely breathe, the taste of blood tickling his tongue. He couldn’t move, but this time it was because of the pain.

He had never known feeling like this could be a relief.

“Dazai?” he slurred, his tongue refusing to cooperate properly. “Are you…”

Chuuya blinked as he heard a distant thud. Something cold pressed against his face. The floor, he realized slowly. When had that happened? 

There were hands on him, feeling for his pulse, touching his face…

A distant voice called out through the black haze he was caught in. “Chuuya… Chuuya! Don’t go, don’t you dare! Do you really think I’m gonna let you?”

Chuuya’s lips twitched. If someone was stubborn enough to prevent his death using only his willpower, it was Dazai, no doubt about it.

“After all,” Dazai continued, “you still owe me a kiss for saving your life. Isn’t that how the stories go?”

A kiss? That was…

The end of that thought faded into nothingness as consciousness finally left Chuuya and everything simply vanished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tfw you accidentally fucked up canon and only realize halfway into the fanfic, but THEN you realize you accidentally included the solution to your problem as well. Maybe. A bit.


	5. when I kissed the teacher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another confrontation. It could have been worse.

Waking up was disorienting, partly because Chuuya wasn’t sure if he’d expected to, partly because he had never actually been to Hogwarts’ hospital wing. It looked white, clean, comfortable… but those were still hospital beds. His surroundings couldn’t fool him. He had never liked hospitals.

At least the pains and aches caused by the sudden release of Corruption had faded in the time he had spent unconscious. He hadn’t seen the resident healer in action before, but the results spoke for themselves. Madam Pomfrey certainly was capable.

Maybe he’d kidnap her along with the kids when he brought all of them to Beauxbatons. The state of things here was horrifying.

As he looked around, he realized a small corner of the room was sectioned off, surrounded by aurors with their wands drawn. Was that where they had put Snape? Chuuya smirked. That served him right. 

At least them being over there meant no one was paying attention to him…

“Oh, he’s awake!”

Or not. The one who had spoken was the youngest auror of the group, probably a trainee: a young woman with pink hair and an energy to her that reminded Chuuya vaguely of Dazai, only happier. Dazai, who had said…

Pushing the thought away before he could overthink it (or think in general), Chuuya smiled charmingly at the woman who had practically bounced over to him, running into a bed and a table on her way. Her trainers had to be delighted.

“Good job catching him,” she grinned, “and defending yourself. Against an Unforgivable, too… the French Ministry really knew what they were doing when they sent you, huh?”

Chuuya was still undecided about that, but as he watched the tone of her hair shift to match his, he didn’t say so. A metamorphmagus, huh? “There was a lot of luck involved, that’s all, Auror… ?” He smiled, looking at her questioningly to distract her from that line of conversation.

Luck, and the nonhuman part of his ancestry… and Dazai. If not for him, the scene they would have found would have been very different. Bloodier, with a lot more collateral damage and several corpses.

If they could put them back together.

“Oh… Tonks. That’s me. And I’m not an auror yet, but…”

“Tonks!” one of the older aurors called. “Just tell him and come back here.”

The blush on her face clashed horribly with her hair. Chuuya knew the pain. 

“Oh… right. We’d appreciate it if you could show up for questioning at some point. You don’t have to, though,” she hurried to add. “Professor Dazai already told us about everything that happened, and we checked Profe… we checked Snape’s wand for spells. He’s going to Azkaban.”

Dazai had…? That was unexpectedly nice.

Though, after what had happened, what he had said… maybe not fully unexpected.

“Thank you. I’ll see what I can manage, being a busy ambassador and all.” He winked.

“Oh… yes, of course. I’ll… just go now.”

She hurried away. Chuuya was almost sure they didn’t usually make people in that vibrant shade of red. It looked unhealthy. Maybe Madam Pomfrey should give her a checkup?

With a quick look he verified he was still wearing his clothes (or again, but he didn’t want to think about that) and swung his legs out of the bed. Dizziness hit him with full force, but faded after a moment. Normal after the kind of day he’d had, Chuuya decided, pushing himself to his feet. He took two experimental steps and looked around. Maybe he could slip out before…

“Mr. Nakahara!”

People just kept proving him wrong today, he thought, quickly hiding his frown at the thought.

“Madam Pomfrey,” he greeted as he turned around with his most brilliant smile. “Just the person I had hoped to see.”

She snorted, not buying his bullshit even for a second. “Oh, so you mean you weren’t trying to sneak out just now?”

It was alright, he hadn’t really expected her to believe it anyway. But couldn’t she at least have played along?

“Of course not! But I  _ was _ hoping you could tell me when I could leave. There is some rather urgent business I’d like to take care of as soon as possible.”

It wasn’t a lie, not really. But Chuuya doubted she would let him out for a conversation with Dazai, who didn’t even have the decency of being here when he woke up after dropping that bombshell on him.

And there it was, the third reason why waking up here felt wrong. Dazai wasn’t here. He was under no obligation to, he hadn’t said or even implied he would be, but not having a proper reason had never stopped Chuuya from being petty. After what Dazai had said before Chuuya had fallen unconscious, after the implications of it, he wasn’t here. It angered Chuuya more than he cared to admit. He would have to deal with that before doing anything else.

Madam Pomfrey sighed. “Your injuries were easy enough to heal, though I’ve never seen anything quite like it. Whatever you did, don’t do it again.”

Chuuya wasn’t planning to.

“That being said, I’ll just cast a few diagnostic spells, and if they turn out alright, you’re free to go. But,” she added just as the promise of freedom made him get his hopes up, “no exertion for the next few days. Walking around should be fine in moderation, but absolutely _ nothing _ more. Do you understand?”

Chuuya inclined his head. “Of course, Madam Pomfrey.” He wasn’t stupid enough to call the wrath of a healer down upon his head.

At least not openly.

Squinting up at him, she nodded after a moment. “Good. Hold still.” 

He did as he was told while she waved her wand over him, muttering, occasionally frowning. Finally she nodded. “You’re free to go. Try not to come back too soon.”

Chuuya smiled his most dazzling smile and bowed slightly. “I’ll do my best,” he assured her. “Thank you for your expert treatment.”

With those words he turned and left, mind already set on where he would go now.

  
  


The entrance to the Great Hall loomed in front of it. This was where it had all begun, and where everything had changed. It also was the most likely place to find Dazai, based on their past interactions and the time, namely the early evening. Chuuya had slept for a day and a half, it seemed, probably a healing coma Madam Pomfrey had initiated to take care of his injuries. A wise decision, though Chuuya wasn’t entirely sure he wanted such an audience for what was about to happen.

Still, he’d have it, and there was no changing that fact. Patience wasn’t one of his strong suits, after all. Taking a deep breath, he bid farewell to his reputation (and possibly position) as respectable French ambassador and pushed the heavy doors open, entering into the warm glow and content chatter that surrounded dinner at Hogwarts.

“Dazai,” he called out, putting all of his frustration and determination into that one name. ”Get up!”

The room fell quiet, hundreds of eyes watching his every move as he strode past the house tables and towards Dazai, who had not only gotten up but now stood in front of the teachers’ table, waiting for whatever it was Chuuya had to say.

He looked the way he always did - cocky smile on his face, bandages covering almost his entire body, confidence oozing from every pore - but something was different. There was a vulnerability to him, a sense of anticipation, buried underneath acceptance and resignation.

Or maybe Chuuya was projecting, who knew.

Everyone in the Great Hall seemed to hold their breath as Chuuya arrived in front of Dazai. Not a single sound was made, not even a whisper. Everyone was waiting for the usual fight, for an explosion, maybe for something worse.

They’d certainly get something, Chuuya thought as he reached out. With an awareness he had lacked before, he saw the slight quiver in the air as Dazai’s shields parted for him, letting his hands pass to do whatever they wanted. It was, in its own way, breathtaking.

Gripping the other man’s collar, Chuuya managed to growl his name one more time, filled with exasperation, annoyance, and a heartful of ‘ _ really? Him?!’ _

Then he tightened his grip, pulled Dazai down to his own height, and pressed his lips to his, accompanied by the sounds of three schools cheering and whistling.

This trip had turned out surprisingly well after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we go! The ABBA song has ended (a.k.a. it ran out of usable chapter titles and I ran out of writing to apply them to). Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it :3


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